


After Everything

by pip_girl_111



Series: Courteous [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: A Little Bit of First Person POV, Angst, Comfort, Evil Institute, Explicit Language, F/M, Fallout Image Prompt, Fluff, Hurt, Image Prompt Contest, November Entry, Shaun's A Horrible Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pip_girl_111/pseuds/pip_girl_111
Summary: Grace (f!sole survivor) has been struggling to cope after the destruction of the Institute, so Arthur decides to take action and help her through. But he gets more than he bargained for when she shares her story of her time in the Institute.--------------------------------------------For the NOVEMBER entry of likegoodangels Image Prompt Contest.Image here





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likegoodangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likegoodangels/gifts).



> I broke this into two chapters because it got looooong. The reference to the image is in the second chapter.

Arthur tried to hold back his annoyance as he walked through Sanctuary. He hated this place. He hated the coziness of it. He hated the relaxed atmosphere. He hated the cheery conversations and the peace and quiet but he also hated when it was noisy. He hated - 

"Elder Maxson." Cait almost spat, bowing dramatically. 

He hated her. He tolerated her most of the time because she was Grace's friend, but - 

"Grace ain't 'ere I'm afraid." 

Not today. If Grace wasn't around there was no reason for him to talk to her. He stormed past her without a word, straight to Grace's house, a new wave of annoyance bathing him as he ran through all the places Grace could be. 

He flung the door of her house open a little harder than he intended, the handle crashing loudly against the wall, where he was greeted by Preston sat at the kitchen counter surrounded by files and papers. 

"The general isn't here Elder," Preston said, barely glancing up from his work. He had dark circles around his eyes and his voice was strained, clearly he'd been working over-time since the destruction of the Institute and Grace's frequent and prolonged absences. 

"I am aware of that, thank you Colonel. What I want to know is if that's something she's told you to tell me or is she really _not here_." 

MacCready's head popped up from behind the sofa and Arthur turned his attention to him. It was clear Preston had more pressing things to be doing. Arthur raised his eyebrows at MacCready, a silent prompt to get on with whatever he wanted to say.

"She told us to tell you that. I mean she isn't _here_ , but we do know where she is..." 

"Go on," Arthur pressed, his final sliver of patience wearing dangerously thin. 

"She's up the hill, in the vault probably-" 

"But she doesn't like anyone going in there," Preston snapped at MacCready, slamming his pencil down on the desk. "The only thing she asked you to do was not tell him where she was!" 

"Yeah well, fu- screw that! She's not right, she hasn't been right since, you know, and he's the only one who can fix it," he gestured angrily at Arthur, finally pushing himself up from the couch, "and she knows that, she just wants to wallow and feel sorry for herself!" 

Preston relented - clearly this was an argument they'd had before – and returned to his work. MacCready mumbled something under his breath before rounding to sofa and approaching Arthur. 

"I know whatever happened in the Institute was bad, but she's taking it really bad. I know you don't massively like me -" 

"That's not true," Arthur interrupted, a little hurt at the accusation, "I apologise if that's how my interactions with you have appeared, but that is not how I feel towards you at all."  
"Really? Because all the scowls say otherwise..." 

Arthur's brows furrowed slightly before he could catch them and soften his features. "According to some people a scowl is my default expression, please don't take it personally," he returned, trying to keep all traces of anger out of his voice. 

"Noted. Anyway, I know Grace. I know her really well and, as much as this pains me to say, you're the only person who can get her to talk about this." Preston scoffed and MacCready shot him a dirty look before continuing, "I know you've been trying to give her space, but -" 

"Or, maybe we can let her deal with things in her own time and actually _listen to her._ " Preston suggested, eyes narrowed at MacCready. 

"Fuck that, fuck you all! You all just pander to her and hang on every word that she says, treating her like she's the most perfect person ever, or something!" Preston turned straight back to his work with raised eyebrows and Arthur stared wide eyed at MacCready, having never heard him actually swear, before MacCready caught his eye, mumbled a quiet apology, and continued, "Grace is my... well I don't really know, but I'd follow her to the ends of the earth. I know she's struggling -" 

Preston scoffed, still pretending to work, and mumbled something under his breath that Arthur didn't catch. 

MacCready ignored him and carried on, speaking louder than before to drive his point home to Preston. "I can't help her, but you can Arthur. Just don't let her push you out 'till you've got her sorted." His voice trailed off at the end and he walked out the door with a small nod and smile to Arthur as he passed. 

Arthur ran a nervous hand through his hair and followed MacCready without a word to Preston , turning right and making his way swiftly towards Vault 111. 

As he marched up the hill he couldn’t help but imagine Grace and her family running the same path over 200 years ago, frightened for their lives. The scenery was different – he knew that – but as he passed through the rusted gates he could picture her shouting _"we're on the list!"_. She'd gotten drunk one afternoon and told him about the day the bombs dropped, she'd said those words haunted her, that sometimes she wished she'd never put their names down for the vault. His breath shuddered as he approached the platform and his heart pounded in his chest. There was no way he could ever understand what she'd gone through, what she was going through now, all he knew was that he wanted her to be happy; to open the door to his quarters and find her already there, rummaging through his things, mocking him for his choice in literature or décor; to arrive in Sanctuary and see her laughing with MacCready over something he 'had to be there' for. Right now though, he'd settle for seeing her at all. 

That thought calmed him, set him back on his mission and as the platform descended into the vault he felt a bubbling of nervous-excitement in his stomach knowing he was so close to her again. 

He'd been in vaults before - they all looked the same – and this was no one was no different. He walked through the entrance and down a corridor paying little attention to his surroundings. When he got to the room at the end, he stopped. 

Large pods lined both sides of the room and he tried to process exactly what he was looking at as he descended the stairs slowly. 

_Cryopods._

Grace had been frozen in one of these, and as he made his way through them, he ran his hand over the glass windows of the empty pods, trying to feel which one was Grace’s? To sense where her presence had been? He didn't know. 

But it didn't take him long to figure out which was most likely hers. 

Near the end of the row was a pod covered in a sheet, a few photographs and various bits and pieces lay in front of it. He crouched in front of it, taking the photographs delicately in his grasp, although he already knew what he was going to see, his heart dropped when he saw Grace staring back; a smiling baby in her arms and –who he assumed was Nate – leaning over them both. Another picture showed Grace on a flared white dress, flowers in her hands, Nate’s arm around her waist, both smiling at the camera. 

Arthur pocketed the photo of the three of them and propped the wedding photo back against the pod before continuing the corridor to look for Grace. 

He found her sat at the old canteen table, back to him and a bottle of some kind of alcohol to her right. 

"Hello Arthur," she said sharply, not even turning around, her voice raspy like she'd not spoken to anyone for a while. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed before sitting opposite her and moving the bottle from her reach. 

"Hello Grace." 

She looked awful. Her usually peachy skin was ashen and dull, her hair was pulled back in a greasy ponytail and her vault suit was dirty. Empty bottles dotted the canteen, and a few boxes of pre-war junk food littered the counters. It was clear she hadn't been taking care of herself while she'd been down here. 

"MacCready rat me out then?" 

Arthur nodded, fiddling with the photo in his pocket. 

"I knew it, he-" 

"He's just worried about you." Arthur shot back before she could attack MacCready. 

Grace scoffed and her hand twitched towards the bottle briefly before she stuffed in under the table. "And why are you here Arthur?" 

"Do you think I'm not worried about you as well?" She looked away, eyes transfixed on her hands. "Grace, everyone is worried about you. What happened? You seemed perfectly fine when you came to see me a few months ago -" 

"When you kicked me off the Prydwen and told me to 'choose where my loyalties lie'?" she retorted, her words laced with venom. 

Arthur felt his gut wrench, he'd spent a great deal of time reflecting on his actions since then, and on his apology, wondering if he'd said the right things, if Grace had realised how much he regretted his outburst. She watched him now, her eyes focused on him. "Is this... did I," he put his hand out, resting it on the table in front of her, inviting her to hold it, "is that what all this is about?" His words came out weaker than he'd intended. 

She took his hand briefly before running her hands through her hair and hiding her face in them. "No, that's got nothing to do with it. If anything that distracted me for a bit. I just..." 

"Has something happened since then that I should know about?" Arthur asked, pulling his hand away sharply, the absence after the fleeting contact burning on his skin.  
She shook her head and mumbled a quiet "no." 

"So am I safe to assume that your current state is due to whatever happened in the Institute?" 

"Yes." Another quiet admission. 

"Well at least that's something... Tell me -" 

"I just need some time to process everything," she interrupted and Arthur watched as the wall she'd built around herself the past few months was reconstructed; the tears that had been building in her eyes disappeared, her deflated posture replaced with a rigid back, "I'll be fine, just give me a bit more time here." Her downturn features swapped for a fake smile. 

And just like that, Arthur felt anger begin to bubble in stomach and before he could compose himself he shot from his seat and began pacing, unfiltered words falling from his mouth. 

"I've given you time Grace! I didn't press you when you stopped coming to the Prydwen, I didn't say anything when you stopped me coming to Sanctuary, I didn't try and stop you when you disappeared to Nuka World for three weeks to see _him_ , and I didn't say anything when you locked yourself in you house and refused to accept any kind of correspondence from anyone, because I thought it was helping! I thought that was how you were dealing with whatever issues you needed to work through! But none of it did anything! So no, you don't get anymore time to deal with this on your own." He watched as she seemed to deflate again before making a show of removing his battlecoat and laying it on the table, unzipping his suit away from his neck slightly and removing his boots. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I'm not leaving this vault until you do." 

Her mouth twitched into the hint of a smile and Arthur took that as consent for him to stay, rummaging through the small pack he recognised as Grace's "lunch box" that was sat on the counter. He found everything in it to brew a pot of tea liked she'd shown him months ago and he set a cup down in front of her. 

She reached out for it a took a tiny sip before setting it quickly back down. "It's really hot," she explained, her voice wobbling as she spoke. 

Arthur sat next to her, his back resting against the table and placed his cup next to hers without a word. She looked up at him, brown eyes brimming with tears and he couldn't help but touch her; tucking stray hairs behind her ears and cupping her face in his hands. She leant to his touch and he shuffled a little closer to her, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. 

That was all it took to break her. 

The moment his lips touched her skin she burst into tears, her body crumpling into his, heavy sobs breaking through the silence of the room. He allowed her to let out the worst, the ugly heaves that wrench the sadness from every crevice, before he hoisted her onto his lap, wrapping her in his arms and letting her tears soak through his suit. He didn't say anything, he didn’t need to, he just held her, his thumb wiping away the tears his suit didn't catch, until to exhausted herself. 

Arthur didn't know how long they'd sat there, but when he lifted her up to take her to bed his bones cracked and his muscles burned, an indication that it had been a significant amount of time. He carried her awkwardly across the room, finding the bed he assumed she'd been using and placed her delicately under the covers. She didn't stir as he set her down, nor when set up a bedroll on the floor next to her and it wasn't long before Arthur fell asleep as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Grace awoke the next morning to sounds of Arthur preparing food in the canteen, he pretended not to see her glancing around the doorframe - wanting her to make the first move – but smiled to himself when he heard the rush of water from the shower in the next room. 

There wasn't a great deal of fresh food available, but he managed to dish up two plates of something remotely edible from the remnants of tinned food the vault must have been packed with when it first opened. He occupied himself with Grace's pip boy that she'd left on the table the night before and he lost track of time as he tried to beat the high-scores on her various games. 

"If you wipe Mac off the leader board he's going to be so pissed." 

He swung round to her, ignoring the harsh beeping from the pip boy that indicated he'd lost the game. 

"I suppose there's not much hope of that though is there?" she joked, her usual melodic tone back. Dressed in a clean vaultsuit, she looked more like herself, dark hair still damp from the shower but pinned neatly away from her face, the dark circles vanished from her eyes and her cheeks a little more colourful. 

"I made you something to eat," Arthur offered, gesturing to the now cold plate of mush the sat opposite him. She eyed it suspiciously, but sat down in front of it regardless. "It's awful really but I couldn't find anything better." 

She pushed the food aside and looked up at him, her eyes holding his gaze. "You were right... about me, about how I'm dealing with this. And I want to talk to you about it, I just don't even know where to start..." 

Arthur rifled through his coat that still lay on the table and pulled out the photo he'd stashed in his pocket. He slid it across the table to her and she took it delicately in her grasp. "Tell me about them?" 

She ran her finger over the faded image of Nate, "I miss him." 

Arthur felt a pang of misguided jealousy in his chest. "It's going to take you a long time to get over his death," his words came out cold and clinical, "that's to be expected at the loss of a spouse." 

She didn't seem to notice his tone, continuing, "no, I'm over his death I've accepted that. I think. I mean I don't get sad when I think of him not being here. I'm not consumed with thinking of all the things he's not seeing or what I'm having to go through without him," she took a deep breath, clearly trying to think through her next words, "he was a great person and loved him, but – maybe 'miss' was the wrong word? Because I wouldn't go back. I've met so many people here who I love so much, I guess I just _feel_ his absence more than anything, and then I feel guilty for not being more upset about it..." 

She trailed off, waiting for Arthur to reply but he was too preoccupied with her confession - _"I've met so many people here that I love,"_ \- to answer. 

Was he one of them? Was now the time to ask her about it? 

She started speaking again before he could reply. "And you know about Shaun. Well you know a bit about him." 

He snapped back to the conversation, he could ask his questions another time. "Yes, you said you couldn't bring him back with you." 

"No... because he was running the Institute." 

Arthur felt his mouth physically drop open but before he could ask any questions Grace began to explain. She told him how 60 years had passed between Shaun being taken and her waking up, that he wanted her to run the Institute with him, that he was dying and that he'd been in there when she'd blown the Institute up. 

"I-" Arthur started, for once almost completely speechless. He wasn’t sure what he'd been expecting but her tale certainly wasn't it. "I can see why you've been struggling." 

"Mmhmm, yeah. I don't really want anyone else to know. I think Preston has an inkling but he's too polite to press the issue." 

"I'm not going to tell anyone Grace. But I've got to ask, why didn't you take him up on his offer? You've managed to unite the factions above ground with little effort, I can't imagine it would have taken much for you to convince Shaun to operate to your liking?" 

"That place was evil. What they were doing, their whole belief of what life should be was so screwed up, I couldn't be there any longer than I had to be. And that man, he wasn't my son." 

Arthur nodded. Grace had been holding this in for months, dealing with the guilt of killing her son and the knowledge of what he'd become, Arthur was surprised she was still holding it together as well as she was. He'd seen soldiers crumple under far less. He wanted to comfort her, but he'd only seen the information from the files Grace had retrieved, information on synths and their creation, on projects they'd been attempting, and he could no longer hold his curiosity back. 

"Can you tell me about it?" he asked, leaning closer to her. 

"About the Institute? What do you want to know?" 

"Everything, start from when you first went there, when we sent you through the teleporter." 

He smiled at her and Grace beamed back, the first genuine smile he'd seen from her in a long time, and he knew she was relishing in the prospect of retelling her story. "Okay, I'll tell you it exactly as I remember it all." 

\-------------------------------------------------------------  
I'm waiting on the relay platform, Ingram's trying to talk to me, telling me to get as much information as I can about what the Institute is up to, but I can't hear her. I mean, the words are going in but their meaning is lost over the sound of my heart hammering in my chest. 

This is it. 

Months of working towards getting to the Institute (well eventually when I finally got my ass in to gear) and now I'm so close I can almost see him. He's going to be older than I first through, I know that, and I know it's going to be hard, he's around 10 and he's going to have no idea who I am, but I know I can fix all of it. 

"All that's left is the throw the transmit switch!" 

All I can think of is the sickening twist in my stomach, the nerves twinging through my entire body. Why am I doing this? We have no idea if this is going to work! 

"Transmitting in three..." 

I need to pee so bad, but hopefully I'm looking calm and confident. The last thing I want is people worrying about me once I vanish. 

"Two..." 

Shit. I can do this. and by the looks of this thing at least if I die it'll take me out quickly. Or tear me apart excruciatingly, atom from atom. 50/50.

"One!" 

And that's it. The world turns to white light and my stomach feels like it's being sucked out my ass, but I land? That's what it feels like, my feet back on something solid even though I didn't realise the ground had vanished, and the world materialises again.

Only now I'm inside. On some kind of platform and there's a doorway in front of me. 

It takes a second for the nausea to vanish before I can actually process that it worked, I'm inside the Institute and I'm not dead. I can't help but smile as I wander into the white room before me. It's clean and sterile looking, like an old world hospital and it's strangely comforting after spending so long surrounded by destruction. 

I run my hand over the surfaces, partly to relish in their cool metallic feel, but mostly to make sure that I can still feel. Before I even get a chance to properly look around a man's voice rings clear over the speakers I hadn't noticed. 

"Hello. I was wondering if you might make it here. You're quite resourceful." I'm pretty sure I jump clear from the floor, the deep voice like an electric shock through me. I try to play it off, look as smooth as I can in case there's cameras in here as well, but my hands are shaking as he tells me who is and orders me to get in the elevator. 

Who thought me coming here on my own was a good idea? Maybe this is an ambush? I'm hardly a friend of the Institute after all my work with the Brotherhood and the Railroad.  
His voice follows me to the elevator, tinny now as it comes through the small speakers. He talks me through the scene that develops as the lift descends into the open. 

"Welcome to the Institute." 

I must look an idiot because I can feel my mouth drop open at the sight. Bright green trees decorate the pristine walkways, clear flowing water runs down the walls, people in clean clothes are milling around some with clip boards, other performing various jobs. I'm not listening to the voice now. My face pressed as close to the glass as I can get it, trying to absorb everything I can. 

The place is massive, larger than anyone could have imagined, an intricate maze of corridors and balconies that I'm in the centre of. There's so many people as well, children, adults, families; an entire community living beneath our feet the entire time. It's beyond impressive. 

The ride if over too quick and I have to drag myself into a smaller contained elevator that takes me to where the voice, Father, is telling me to go, but all I can think about is the trees, green and beautiful, almost enough to make me forget about all the shit the Institute's put me through. 

Almost, but not enough. 

When I finally get out the second lift, he's there. My beautiful not-so-baby Shaun behind a glass wall sat with his back to me. My feet propel me without caution to the enclosure and my hands are trying to touch him before he's even managed to stand up. But I can tell straight away, just like I thought, he has no idea who I am.

I'm trying to explain that I'm his mother, that he's safe and it's me, but it's falling on deaf ears. All he can do is shout for this 'Father', not his father, but some poor imitation who's never going to have been as good as Nate. I keep telling myself that it's not his fault but as 'Father' walks into the room it's all I can do to stop myself from shooting him straight between the eyes. 

He sees it. Sees the murderous thoughts flash through my mind, it's funny how killing someone is nothing to me now. So easy that I would barely hesitate to put a bullet in this man's brain without knowing anything about him. But he carries on, voice still calm as calls the recall code on my baby. 

It takes a second for me to realise it, that that isn't Shaun. It looks like him, but it isn't. It's some synth copy that they used to lure me here, and as Father speaks to me I'm busy trying to plan how I'll get out of here. I was too busy looking at the damn trees to have noticed anyway back to the relay other than the elevator, and I'm a good shot but I'm not good enough to get through all those people I saw. 

"It's me. It's Shaun." 

I remember laughing, shouting at him about how his Dad had been shot, but I never doubted that he was telling the truth. A mother's instinct maybe? Or the fact that he looked so much like Nate? That helped, but really, I think deep down I'd never expected that I'd really find Shaun – the Shaun I knew anyway – because honestly, that would have been too easy. 

Nothing about my life after the bombs has made any sense. I own a theme park that's full of blood thirsty, cap hungry fancy-dressers. I've been part of an underground organisation that communicates in secret symbols and code names , while also running a pretty fucking effective team of soldiers who are doing all they can to wipe out those same people. I helped some brains in a jar solve a murder and I'm the freaking Silver Shroud. The fact that my baby was actually a 60 year old man, well that just seemed fitting. 

So I ran with it, I got to know the Institute, figured out what made them tick; just like I had done with every other faction, and honestly it was okay for a while. X6 was great and Shaun was interested in me, I told him about life before the war, about the family he never knew, and stories of what he was like as a baby. I say this begrudgingly now, but at the time, it was nice. 

And then I saw how they made synths. 

Fully formed adults - people without a doubt - stitched together in a laboratory. They kicked them out of their machines like they were nothing, never once questioning how far they pushing the boundaries. But I could see it when I passed the synths in the corridors, the humanity in every single one. Of course there were some, like X6, who never questioned their purpose, they followed their orders with a blank expression, never reflecting on their existence, their complete trust and admiration in the people they served. Then there were others; the ones who watched you when they thought you weren't looking but turned away the second you caught them, the ones that flinched if you walked too close, their hands trembling when they served food and drink. 

They were the ones that knew what they were, ignored the insistence that they were machines, that they were there for the single purpose of serving the Institute. They were the ones you could hear crying, screaming if you listened carefully enough. 

One time, they invited me to watch an experiment. 

I mean, it takes a bit of insistence on their part, but eventually I relent decide to give them another chance. I walk into a room where they've got a girl strapped to a chair, restraints across her head and limbs, and I already know I've made a mistake. They start talking to me about what they’re doing, what it was they want to achieve but I can't for the life of me tell you what it was because my eyes are trained on her. The second I'd walked she'd locked eyes on me, bright blue and drowning in fear. I want more than anything to get behind the glass and hold her hand, tell her everything will be alright, but I can't. The least I can do for her is give her my undivided attention, I don’t even look away when she glances towards the scientist to beg that it won't hurt, nor as he angrily dismisses her plea as "faulty programming". She looks back at me then, her bottom lip trembling as some kind of equipment is placed around her head and fired noisily into life. She shakes violently and her eyes close, still directed towards me, and it's only then, as the scientists around me began cursing another failed experiment, that I finally look away. 

I sprint back to what I was using as a bedroom so quickly after that, not caring what anyone thinks, just trying to put as much distance between that room. That was when Shaun knew I was having doubts and he starts trying everything to turn me back to the Institutes way of thinking, showing me all the various breakthroughs they've had, all the things they've created to save humanity. All of them are pointless though and after a few weeks of being shown something new everyday, everything blurs into one. I'm never really paying attention to him anyway, the whole time I'm just trying to buy some time to figure out my next move. 

The only one that still sticks with me, the one that made me decide to destroy the place – and god knows how I never stumbled across the place before -was the wooded lane. 

I knew before we even got in there that it was going to be a different kind of pitch; Shaun's not selling me Institute technology for the masses this time. I know, because he's ushering me through the door with his hand awkwardly on my lower back, in the whole time I've been here, he's never once touched me. But I don't even dwell on it because I'm so focussed on what I'm seeing. 

As far as I can see, the room is lined with trees, all of them delicious shades of amber and gold, a stark contrast to the green foliage that floods the rest of the Institute, and the light seems to catch every leaf, basking us in an orange glow that I hadn't realised I'd missed until now. 

Shaun gives me a second to take it all in, to admire the neatly raked leaves lining the path, to enjoy the crisp sound of leaves rustling with some kind of artificial breeze. 

“Shall we walk mother?” he asks finally, gesturing down the path with his free arm while edging me along with the other. There's a slight sing-song to his voice that seems fake and it sets me on edge. 

I nod and a smug smile spreads across his face. He knows exactly what he's doing. 

“I remember you told me about a walk you took with my father before the war, did it look something like this?” 

I nod again, slowly as I relive mine and Nate's first date. I don't remember ever describing it in so much detail, but this spot on, like being transported back in time, but it's not soothing anymore and my nerves twitch. 

“I tried my best to conjure the lane from what you'd told me, it sounded beautiful when you described it so I hope I did it justice.” 

“How did you – I don't," I've not been in the Institute that long but I've come to notice the little twitches on Shaun's face, the only evidence of his emotions sometimes, and the slight tensing of his mouth tells me that this is not the time for questions, what ever he's done to be able to create this so perfectly is done now, there's no point dwelling. "It's remarkable, really it is. Have the trees done this themselves? Changed colour?” I fumble with my words, my brain running at a mile a minute trying to pull away from my 'faux pas'.  
“It's all part of our work, but that's not why I brought you here.” 

At least I'm not going to have to sit through another talk on the “bright future” the Institute could create. 

“I wanted to bring you somewhere that would bring back some happy memories of a time before the war, a time I could offer you again…” He pauses for dramatic effect and I have to bite my lip to stop me from saying something I'd regret. “Let me explain. As you are aware we have made great progresses with synth-Shaun, every day the scientists who work with him say that he's becoming more and more indistinguishable from a human child, and as you also know, we are incredibly talented at creating synths to imitate people…” 

He stops walking and turns to look at me, obviously waiting to see if I could grasp where he was going. But all I can think is NO, because there's no way he's suggesting- 

“We have a perfect visual reference to recreate my father... Nate,” he adds, you know just in case I'd forgotten, “it'll take some time to program his personality correctly but with your help we could create an exact copy. You could live with your family here, in complete safety.” 

He was suggesting it. Now, I’m not a particularly angry person, in fact I'd even go so far as to say it's difficult to make me angry, but in that moment I can feel a rage burning through my entire body. My limbs tingle and my heart's like a heavy weight in my chest. 

“So I get to live with some cheap imitation of my dead husband and a ten year synth I have to pretend is our son!” I'm laughing, but I can feel my voice getting louder, the viciousness drowning every word. 

To his credit, Shaun isn't fazed, doesn't even flinch as I step closer to him, but that just makes me more angry. 

“The synthetic people we are creating now are indistinguishable from normal people, and they will believe with every fibre of their being that they are your husband and son, all it would take is for you to accept them.” He says it with a shrug of his shoulders, like that sentence hadn't just condemned the Institute to destruction. 

“Do you truly believe that? That the synths can believe they're human? That there's nothing to distinguish them from us except that chip in their brain?” The panicked look on his face made makes me wonder whether I'd said those words, or if my mouth had taken over and I'd just screamed at him that I was going to gut him alive. 

“I- well there is some debate, as I'm sure you've heard, as to whether the synths have more potential than we give them credit for-“ and the wall was back, calm and collected again, “-I obviously don't get involved but I have heard about it. And yes I do believe the synths can be made to believe they're truly human. What could possibly make them think otherwise?” 

My anger starts turning to nausea at his words but I swallow it, summon back the rage. “Do you believe that if you made a synth version of Nate, he wouldn’t be a machine built to look like Nate, but a second version of him, just created in a laboratory and manipulated to believe he was my husband? Capable of loving me and our son, of laughing at my jokes, inventing new games to play with our child? Everything a father would do?” 

He takes a moment and the silence seems to stretch around the entire room, the leaves stop rustling, even the pounding of my heart seems to silence. 

“I do.” 

“And how would he be made differently from the other synths?” 

“Well, there would be extra attention payed to him, and his programming would be more carefully constructed to mimic what Nate’s actually responses would be, but other than that, there would be nothing different.” 

My face must be giving away exactly what I'm thinking because he looks like he's been smacked with a tonne of bricks, straight to the gut. 

“You're disgusting. If you think the synths are so much like people, how can you keep using them as slaves and subjects of your experiments?” 

“Because, mother, despite the fact that they might act like they're human, they are created in a laboratory. Although I wouldn't expect you to be able to differentiate.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” I spit out. 

“You've spent so long above ground, frolicking with those _people_ ,” he says it like it pains him, like he can't believe the word was actually coming from his mouth, “you wouldn’t know what the future looked like if it was laid out in front of you.” 

I wish I had a response, some witty retort that would have put him in his place, but I don't. I try to at least walk out the room with some air of dignity, ignoring the burning sickness and disappointment in my stomach. 

I make it back to my room before I burst into tears. I'd assumed that the Institute was blind to the humanity of their synths, that Shaun was allowing all this to happen because to him they were just machines, no different to the first generation synths that caused so much trouble on the surface – that was bad enough for me to consider a hostile take over. But to find out that Shaun, my son, was well aware that he was using the nearest things to human beings for whatever brutal test he wanted, putting them in situations so unethical it made me sick... well that was when I finally decided the Institute was going to burn. 

I disappear for good that night, start planning a way to break us all in and detonate the place. Surprisingly it doesn't take long. For all his insistence that he isn't a leader, Preston had developed a pretty solid plan and I let him take charge. The whole thing goes by in a flawless blur, gun shots and screams merging into a cacophony of destruction. 

My Minutemen aren't the pushovers everyone paints them to be. 

“We need to find a way to evacuate everyone,” Preston shouts to me when the fighting lulls. 

“Do we? Really?” 

“General,” he warns, his tone low; scary almost. 

“Fine.” I try to make it sound like I was doing him a favour, but we both knew deep down I'm never going to murder innocent people, even if it means some of the scum will survive as well. “I like this new, commanding Preston. It suits you babe,” I add, trying to cover the slight look of disgust that I know my face is twisted into. 

He winks at me as I ran off towards Shaun's room, a little acknowledgement that he never doubted me. 

It's quiet in Shaun's quarters and I assume he isn't there, fled as soon as the fighting started. I wouldn't blame him, but I'm a little disappointed in him. That soon vanishes as I make it to the top of the stairs to find him laying in a supped up bed. 

"What's this?" Curiosity getting the better of me. "Are you sick?" 

"Don't pretend like you care now, you had your chance mother," the word sounds like it burns his tongue and despite the anger and disgust I'd felt, still felt, it hurts and I have no reply. 

Focus. I glance at his terminal, trying to keep my goal in sight. 

"It's not enough that I lie here dying... Now you plan on what, destroying everything? So tell me, what righteous pretence are you using to justify this atrocity to yourself?" 

I take a deep breath and allow his words to wash over me, he's not going to rope me into an argument and distract me. 

"The Institute offered you everything, I offered you everything and now you chose to throw it back in my face. Well, none of it matters now, I suppose. You'll accomplish your task and ruin humanity's best hope for the future." 

But the red mist descends. 

"Shaun you've been down here so long you're blind to the lives of the people up there! The people who are toiling through the shit day in, day out, just trying to make the world a little bit better, the people who are trying to educate and protect others, they're humanity's hope for the future, not some stuck up scientists that like to play god!" I can feel my voice rising, the heat of my anger threatening to pull me under. "The Institute might like to think they're doing the world a favour but you're hurting people out there Shaun, I've seen the experiments you authorise, I've seen what you really stand for and it’s not to help humanity, it's to see how far you can push technology! Well guess what Shaun, that's what caused this fucking mess in the first place! You aren't redefining humanity, you're jeopardising it's future, people like you can't be left to do what you please-" 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel my stomach drop. That was the rhetoric I'd had shoved down my throat the moment I came into contact with the Brotherhood, they weren't my words. Although... they were. That was what I truly believed in my heart and I was willing to destroy such an amazing place, the innocent people that got in my way and any chance at turning this into something good, to ensure that the Institute wasn't the downfall of humanity. 

Suck on that Kells. Turns out I am Brotherhood material. 

Through my entire rant, Shaun's face never changes, not even the tiniest twitch of muscle, there's no use arguing with him, and the occasional zap of bullets reminds me that my people are still in danger. There's no use being angry now. 

"What's the code to your terminal?" I ask, my voice as flat as his now. 

"Why would I help you?" 

"You don't have to help me, but I am going to blow this place up whether it's full of people or not. So it might be worth thinking about how many of your people you're willing to condemn out of spite." 

Now those weren't my words. It felt as though I was suddenly watching the interaction from outside my body. 

"Why not just kill me now, save all of these dramatics?" Shaun spits, and despite my out-of-body protests, my hand settles on the grip of my pistol and I watch as his eyes follow the movement. "All that work laid to waste... enter access code 9003." 

And like that, I'm back; my moment of sadistic possession gone and I rush to the terminal. I shutdown the synths I can, initiate the lockdown override and start the evacuation procedure, and like a godsend Sturges' voice rings out through the speakers, guiding me through the rest. 

I run from the room without looking back, my heart pounding as I sprint through gunfire to the reactor room, Preston in tow. He's shouting something about only having one chance but I'm not listening, I just want to get out of here and never think about it again, and anyway, I know exactly what I have to do, the memory of the plan carrying me through until Sturges transports us back to the relay room and my determination disappears. 

"Sturges, please get me out of here," I beg the second we materialise. It takes Preston a moment to adjust, the nausea still affecting him, but he nods in agreement. 

"I would but... this kid turned up..." Sturges replies. As soon as he says it I know exactly who I'm going to find in that room. "Says he's your son." 

"Please mom, don't leave me here, I want to go with you." S9-23, aka Synth Shaun. 

It's Shaun's last act of spite. He knows that this will break me, knows I could never accept S9-23 as my child, but also that I can't leave him there to die. 

"You're not my son," I say, more as a reaffirmation to myself than anything, and Sturges and Preston tense a little. 

"You can't just leave me here! I don't want to die!" 

"General?" Preston's soft question does nothing to help the battle going on in my mind; the look on that little face - a face that looks so much like Nate's- the fear and the confusion staring at me, rakes at my heart until I feel like I can't breath. No child deserves to go through that amount of upset. And he was a child, just not mine. The thought of taking him with me, seeing him everyday, pretending that he was my son, that I loved him... I couldn't do it. 

"S9-23, recall code Cirrus." 

Just like the first time I'd seen him, his shoulders slump forward, head flopped against his chest and I hear Preston gasp a little before he slings an arm around my shoulder and ushers me quickly to the relay platform. 

"Sturges, fire it up," he says softly, and when I come to again we were on top of a building. "Sturges figured this was a safe distance outside the blast radius, when you're ready, just hit that button." He points to a control just in front of me, positioned for the best view of the explosion. 

This is what I wanted, what everyone had been working towards, and I should have felt happy, or angry, or sad... anything. But I felt nothing. My body and mind were numb, exhausted and oblivious. 

"You do it," I mumble to Preston.

"Are you sure?" he asks, catching my arm. I nod, unable to bring myself to press it and walk away. 

Sturges grabs me before I get too far though, engulfing me in his arms, to keep me rooted where I am. As soon as Preston presses the button he joins us, his arms filling the gaps and his chin resting on my head, while we wait for the inevitable. 

An eternity seems to pass before the earth shook and a warm gust of wind whips the air roughly around us – that was it, the Institute and my family destroyed, burned to the ground in seconds. None of us move for a while, not until the air cools and the debris settles, when Preston tucks me under his arm and the three of us walk in silence to meet the rest of the Minutemen at the Castle. 

\----------------------------------------------------  
"And the rest you know... sort of," she finished. 

Arthur sat, dumbfounded across the table from her. He'd kept silent the entire time she'd been talking, transfixed with her story telling, and he took a moment to try and process what he'd heard before he spoke. 

"I had no idea..." 

She shrugged, "nothing you could have done." 

"But there is, I could have been more understanding, more..." 

There was a long pause in which they just sat, eyes locked across the table, tension engulfing the room, as Arthur tried to make sense of the uncomfortable feeling in his gut, something more than the usual anger that simmered just below the surface. 

"What now?" Grace finally asked, cutting short his inner musings. She fiddled with her hair while she waited for answer, clipping back the few stray pieces that danced across her face. It had dried during her speech, and now it lay awkwardly around her shoulders, not quite curly, not quite straight. It was only then that Arthur realised he'd never really seen Grace. She was always made up, her hair perfect, her face and lips flushed artificially; a mask of sorts, shielding herself from everyone. 

Now he realised what the feeling was; he was embarrassed. Ashamed that he'd not noticed all of this sooner, that he hadn't realised what Grace really needed from him.  
He walked around the table in a few graceful steps, pulling Grace from her seat and crashing her into his chest. 

"We can stay here if that's what you want." he mumbled into hair. 

"Don't you need to get back to Prydwen?" 

"Kells and the Proctors are more than capable of running the Prydwen for a while. I can go wherever you need me to." He cringed a little when he felt Grace chuckle against him, but when she pulled back she was smiling warmly at him. 

"Thank you. I need to get out of here, put this all behind me. Can we go to Home Plate? I think I need to be around people... But we don’t have to, I know you don't like-"  
"We'll go to Home Plate," he interrupted, an authority to his tone that permitted no questions. 

"You can go into Incognito mode again," she teased and he flushed bright red at the memory. "I just need to get my things and then we can go," she added, pulling away and grabbing her pack from the side. 

Arthur watched as she disappeared into the bedroom across the room. He understood now exactly how MacCready felt; following her to the ends of the earth seemed like a damn good idea.


End file.
